Turkey Day
by Tinkerbell99
Summary: Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. It's Thanksgiving in the West Wing. Epilogue added.
1. Josh

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Note: This is a companion to my story, "Stopping for a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve," which follows Donna's Thanksgiving in Wisconsin. It's not strictly necessary to read that first, or even at all. (But it might be fun!) This is what she left behind.

Chapter 1: 37 Minutes (Josh POV)

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Thirty-seven minutes. She's been gone thirty-seven minutes and I'm doing just fine. In fact, I've even begun to sort through what could only charitably be called a filing system and to reorganize it according to the principles of Josh Lyman. I've also obtained a piece of fruitcake from the coffee area and cancelled my late meeting with Senator Haskell. Thirty-seven minutes and all is well.

Just as I'm trying to decide whether research on 197 should be placed in the gray cabinet with the orange file folders or in the black cabinet with the blue binders, I notice Sam skulking past my office. Glancing quickly behind him, he ducks suddenly inside and pulls the door.

"Uhh, Sam?" Sam isn't usually one to skulk.

"Yeah?" He's peeking out the window now.

"What's going on?"

"I ate some of the fruitcake."

"Huh?"

He allows the blinds to snap shut and takes a seat on my couch. "I ate some of the fruitcake," he repeats.

"From the cart?" He nods. "What's wrong with the fruitcake from the cart?" I eye the paper plate amidst the papers on my desk.

"Nothing, or at least I don't think anything. It's just that it was, apparently, left for the assistants, not the senior staff. And it would seem that some of the assistants are less than pleased with the disappearance of the cake. In particular, Margaret is less than pleased."

Oh. That's not good. I plop a binder on the remains of my cake, then relocate the entire mess to my chair. "How were we supposed to know that?" It was good cake, too.

"Apparently there was a sign. By the cake. With big letters. Letters I didn't read."

He wasn't the only one. "Soo… You're hiding in here."

"I'm not hiding. Really. Well, sort of, but that's beside the point. Where's Donna?"

"Out of town. Why?"

He looks worried. Panicked, actually. "Oh, no reason…It's just that we may have a thing."

"A thing?"

"A problem. More of a concern really."

"A concern about what?"

Sam winces. "Pardoning a pig."

I must have missed something here. "You mean the turkey?"

"No, no I'm fairly certain I mean a pig. Just a couple calls and something about the pork producer's association."

"They want us to pardon a pig?"

Again, Sam nods. "I don't think it's going to be a thing, but someone should, you know, tell Toby."

"Tell Toby? Isn't this something for CJ?"

"Well it would be, but-"

"Right, right. She's leaving town, too. So…why haven't you told Toby?"

"Do you really want to be the only one in the room when you tell Toby the President needs to pardon a pig?"

Good point.

I should mention, at this time, that it has been thirty-nine minutes since Donna left. Thirty-nine minutes and all was well. As I move to get up, Sam motions me down. "There's one more thing. Well, actually two. Senator Haskell needs to meet on 197 tonight, not tomorrow."

"No problem, I have the binder ready to…" See, I did have the binder ready to go. Or more specifically, I had the files in the binder which I put in one of the cabinets, unless I filed them under…This is not good. Maybe I put it in the…

"Josh?"

"Yeah, sorry." I whip my head out of a cabinet and brush fruitcake crumbs from my tie. "What was the second thing?"

Sam rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Lord John." He clears his throat. "He's here for the holiday. And, apparently, the open bar."

Forty-one minutes and all was well.

Trying not to panic, I reach for the phone.

"Donna?"


	2. CJ

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Chapter 2: 49 Minutes (CJ POV)

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Oh my God. "What _happened_ to your _office_?"

Jumping back from what used to be his desk, Josh slams down the phone and looks guiltily up at me. "I was…reorganizing."

"Reorganizing _why_?"

"What do you mean why?" He grins feebly and attempts a laugh that emerges as more of a frightened chuckle. "It's my office…I can reorganize…Clean…" He trails off as we both take in the chaos of papers, files, binders, and assorted office supplies cluttering not only the desk but also the shelves, flooring, and window sills. "Donna left for a couple days, so-"

"Donna _left_?" This is not good. This is not good at all.

"Yeah, she went back to Wisconsin to see her cousin's baby and-"

"When is she coming back?" I can't leave if Donna's gone. I have a plane to catch in a matter of hours and I cannot leave if Donna's gone.

"Why?"

"_Why_? You're asking me why?" Has he learned nothing by now? "Every time Donna leaves, be it for an errand to the OEOB or to the bagel cart, you self destruct!"

"CJ, I do not self-"

"Yes. Yes, you do. Sure, it begins with you cleaning out the filing cabinets or installing some new program on your computer. It's just that it usually ends with a national security debacle and/or a trip to the emergency room!"

"CJ-"

"Josh I swear to God, if I come back from Ohio and have to explain to the press corps why you emailed launch codes to North Korea, I'll-"

"I never-"

"But I wouldn't put it past you!"

"CJ, it's fine. Really. It's fine." He attempts to sit in his chair, nearly squashing a plate of…fruitcake? Whatever. "Do your briefing. Go see your dad. We'll be fine." I looks sure, but I'm definitely not.

I take a deep breath. Toby appears behind me. "You ready to brief?"

Another deep breath. "Yeah. Anything I need to know?"

They look at each other before answering. For some reason, I don't like that look. They know something. Simultaneously, they shake their heads. "No."

Skeptical as I am, I'm also very late. I had a little run-in with Lord John before witnessing Josh's mess. Somebody needs to deal with that, too, but that's a conversation for another time. "Fine." They look relieved. This is definitely not good. "Just one more thing." Turning to Josh, I have to ask. "How long has Donna been gone?"

He looks worried again. "A while…" I give him The Glare. "Forty-nine minutes."

Forty-nine minutes and this is the mess he's made. God help us all. "And who were you on the phone with when I walked in?"

He shrinks into his shirt collar and starts to stammer, "I…uh…it was…" Once more under the power of The Glare, he coughs up the truth. "Donna. I was on the phone with Donna."

Forty-nine minutes. I'm surprised he lasted that long.

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"CJ, is the reason we haven't seen a draft of the Haiti speech because the White House can't get together with Congress on the language?"

"No, Kris, as I stated earlier, the language has been agreed upon by all parties. The draft will be available for press immediately following the Thanksgiving holiday on Friday morning." We hope. "Steve?"

"CJ, we've been getting reports that the Pork Producer's Association would like the President to pardon a pig as part of the Thanksgiving celebrations. Can you tell us if the President is planning to do so, and if so, when will the ceremony take place?"

I take a moment to digest this information before responding. "Excuse me?"

Steve glances at his notes before continuing. "Sources say the Association may be planning some sort of demonstration if their request is unanswered. Can you comment?"

No, Steve, I can't comment. I can't comment because I haven't been adequately prepared. I can't comment because I'll be busy throttling Josh, Toby, Sam, and any other withholder of information I may find. "Steve, I don't know who you've been talking to, but there has been no such communication between-"

"Actually, CJ, my sources concur. The Pork Producer's Association would like the President to pardon a pig alongside the turkey." Well, thank you so much, Katie.

Clearing my throat, I know I need to end this fast. "The President will pardon a turkey - I believe its name is Harold - before his own Thanksgiving celebration tomorrow. He will be dining with several distinguished guests and be kept up to date on the business of the nation. That's all for now, Josh Lyman will brief from this podium tomorrow morning." I make a dash for the pressroom door.

"CJ!" "CJ!" Obviously I didn't move fast enough. "You didn't answer my question."

"Imagine that."

Leaving the room, I speed-walk through the bullpen and head toward my office, dodging a very possibly-drunk Lord John along the way. "Carol!" I check my watch. Only fifty-five minutes behind schedule. My plane awaits, as does my weekend. I can do this. "Carol?"

"Steve's still asking about the pig thing." Carol appears and hands me my coat. Shrugging it on, I look around for my scarf.

"Tell him I know nothing, I see nothing, and will not be eating ham or bacon for the next two days. If you need to reach me, call my _oh God_!"

The turkey. Harold. He's in my office. He's sitting on my desk. Or more accurately, he's roosting on top of my scarf.

I thought we'd taken care of this last year. Apparently not.

I deposit my briefcase, bag, plane tickets, and my cell on Carol's desk. She looks up with raised eyebrows.

"There's a turkey in my office."

Screwing up her face apologetically, she manages a quiet, "Yeah."

"There's a turkey on my scarf."

"I'll take care of it." Brushing past me, she heads through the door and attempts to coax Harold away from the cashmere. I take a deep breath and once again pick up my briefcase.

"CJ?" Josh appears with Toby close behind. From their faces, I ascertain that I was correct about the pig thing. They knew.

I stop in the midst of reclaiming the scarf and face the two of them. There are some times when height is an advantage. Intimidation such as this is exactly one such time.

"Josh. Toby. There's a little talk we need to have. It would seem that the press caught hold of a certain pig situation."

Josh looks at Toby. Toby looks at Josh. Neither of them speak. Both of them appear to be guilty. And scared.

I continue. "They caught hold of a pig situation and brought it up in my briefing."

Silence.

"Where I was completely unprepared!"

"In all fairness, CJ," Josh begins, "We didn't really think this would be a thing."

Toby mutters something I can't hear to Josh and clears his throat before addressing me. "It was…an unforeseen development."

"Unforeseen how? You think the pig people can't pick up a phone?" Josh shrinks back a little more as I check my watch again. One hour behind schedule. "You know what? I'm done. I have a plane to catch. You two-" I attempt to point my finger, but, as it is currently stuck in glove I have little success. "-You two are going to figure this out."

"Well, that's the thing…" Josh trails off under the power of The Glare. "Right. We got it."

"Good. Carol has notes for the next briefing - try not to screw it up - and I'll be back early Friday morning. Whatever you do, do not give in to the crazy pig people. I do not, do _not_ want to spend Thanksgiving week next year with the President pardoning an entire zoo and ears of corn. Understood?" They both nod, and although I'm not thoroughly convinced, I am very late. "Happy Thanksgiving."

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I'm boarding the plane before I remember.

Harold. He's still in my office.

Lord John. He's still running loose.

Damn.

Retrieving my cell from my carryon in possible violation of numerous FAA rules and regulations, I speed dial work.

"Carol, it's me. Listen, the turkey is still in my office and it needs to be taken to the…"

Actually, no.

"Carol? Josh's office. Take the turkey to Josh's office."

It'll fit right in.


	3. Josh 2

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Note: This is a companion to my story, "Stopping for a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve," which follows Donna's Thanksgiving in Wisconsin. It's not strictly necessary to read that first, or even at all. (But it might be fun!) This is what she left behind.

Chapter 3: 94 Minutes (Josh POV)

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Making our way back through the bullpen, Toby and I manage to dodge what appears to be a vaguely familiar drunken British tourist before retreating to my office. "And remind me again whose decision it was not to inform CJ about the thing with the pig?"

"Well, technically it was Sam that…" As good as CJ is with that glare of hers, Toby does a nice job too. "Yeah…we should have told her."

"You think? You think it would have been a good idea for the voice of the President to appear adequately informed of the…" Toby trails off, paused just outside my window. "What did you do to your office?"

First Sam and CJ, now Toby. "I was just reorganizing." At least, I was trying to.

Toby observes the…well…_area_ of papers before offering a slightly worried, "Hmm. Donna's in Wisconsin?" I nod. "Hmm."

"There were some files that were out of place…" I didn't realize before just how bad this looked. At this point, I'm not actually sure where my desk is. "Donna's filing system was a little…" Perfect. Donna's filing system was perfect. And now I'm screwed. Completely. I need to fix this or she'll kill me.

As we enter my office, Toby mutters another slightly confused, "Hmm."

"Toby, really. I'll have it put back together in no - _ow_!" My foot lands on a slightly smushed plate of fruitcake, thereby sending me into a controlled nosedive into the filing cabinet. Being the athletic man that I am, I do manage a somewhat graceful landing at the edge of my desk, where the stapler procedes to clunk me on the head.

Coming to rest in a flutter of papers, I hear a slightly amused Toby step forward. "You alright down there?"

Replacing the stapler and standing carefully, I nod. "Yeah. Fine. Just fine." I deposit what's left of the fruitcake plate into the trash and attempt to scrape the remainder off my shoe.

"How long has she been gone?"

I check my watch. "One hour and thirty-four minutes."

"Okay then." Picking his way around stacks of binders, Toby clears a spot for himself on the couch. "You're meeting with Haskell tonight?"

"Yeah. I just need to…read the thing first." Actually I need to call Donna so she can help me _find _the thing first, but he doesn't need to know that.

"You're meeting him here?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Right here?" His voice rises a few octaves as he gestures to the remains of a pizza box on my computer keyboard.

I start to nod, but reconsider. "Maybe in the mess hall."

"Okay then." He's about to go on when we're interrupted by a ringing coming from…somewhere on my desk.

"Josh? You gonna get that?"

"Yeah. I just gotta…" Find the phone. I need to find the phone. After shuffling through papers, binders, and finally knocking a cup of cold coffee into my lap, I produce the phone. "Josh Lyman." I need napkins.

"Josh, Leo would like you and Toby in his office as soon as possible." When Margaret has that tone, it isn't good. Toby meets my eyes and tosses me some tissues. When I cover the phone and mouth "Leo," he cringes.

"He saw the briefing?"

"I'm guessing so."

"_Josh_?"

"Right. Yeah. Sorry Margaret." The tissues are doing little to help the coffee situation.

"Is everything under control over there?" Now she sounds worried. Why do these people assume I can't care for myself?

"What? Of course! It's fine!" The tissues are dissolving on my pants, leaving little white rolls on the fabric. And why does my voice have to crack like that? "Toby," I hiss. "Napkins!"

"Josh? What did you do?"

"Nothing, Margaret! I didn't -" Coming up empty, Toby shrugs. "Damn." Now my chair is wet.

"I'm coming over there."

"What? No!"

"Donna left me with very specific instructions for a situation such as this. I shouldn't have left you alone this long."

"Margaret, it's fine! I was just doing some cleaning and -" Toby shakes his head and a few moments later I notice him jump off the couch and away from the door, a tower of papers shifting precariously in his wake. Margaret starts rambling about ER trips and missile codes, but I'm now more concerned with Toby cowering in a corner and looking disbelievingly at the door.

"Josh? CJ said to bring you this."

It's Carol. And she's carrying a turkey.

"_Josh_!" The phone. Right.

"Uhh…We'll be there in a minute, Margaret." Phone removed from ear, I can now focus on the problem at hand. Or actually, the turkey at hand. "What the hell is that?"

"This…" Carol enters with a squawking flapping mess of feathers. "This is Harold." Toby huddles farther in the corner. "CJ says he's for you." With that, she deposits the bird on my floor, where he skids to a stop on the latest DOD budget copy.

"What am I supposed to do with a turkey?" Shrugging, Carol retreats but not before casting a curious glance at my coffee-drenched lap.

"Well…" Toby begins, but is cut off by Sam skidding though my door.

"Josh, the pork people want to stage some sort of a large-scale protest-"

Motioning violently for him to be silent, I take a moment to review the situation.

My office is a mess. I've lost the files I need for tonight. I'm wearing cold coffee and sliding on fruitcake. Leo is about to have my head, but only if Margaret doesn't get to it first. The pig people are rioting. Donna is on a plane by now, completely out of communication for at least a few hours and out of town for at least another day. Plus, there's a turkey in my office.

Checking my watch, I calculate that Donna's plane will land in Wisconsin in approximately two hours. Until then, I'm on my own.

I look from Toby to the turkey, to Sam, then back to Toby. None of us speak. Harold squawks menacingly at Sam, who soon joins Toby in the corner.

"_JOSH! No, no, no, no! What did you do?"_ Margaret has arrived on the scene. And she's not happy.

This is all Donna's fault. She's never leaving town again.


	4. Leo

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Note: This is a companion to my story, "Stopping for a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve," which follows Donna's Thanksgiving in Wisconsin. It's not strictly necessary to read that first, or even at all. (But it might be fun!) This is what she left behind.

Chapter 4: Look Who's Coming to Dinner (Leo POV)

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"Leo…just so I have this straight…are you really telling me that the Pork Producer's Association - the _same_ people who came up with that "other white meat" thing - are going to _rally_? On Thanksgiving? Did we really do something to insult a pig?" I knew he wouldn't take this well.

"It seems that the Pork Producer's Association would like to you pardon a pig alongside the traditional Thanksgiving turkey." Jed lowers the cookbook he's reading just enough to peer at me over the top of his glasses. Suddenly I'm grateful his desk is between us.

"They what?"

Taking a deep breath, I try to explain. "They feel that the yearly celebration of the turkey is somehow prejudicial to the pig and…" Jed isn't buying it. Luckily, Margaret pops in at that moment to present me with the latest budget figures. "Margaret, get Josh and Toby in my office. Sam, too."

Meanwhile, Jed seems to have digested the latest pork information. "Leo, you're telling me that the Pork Producers want me, on Thanksgiving Day, to pardon a pig?"

I take a yet another deep breath. Much more of this and Margaret will sign me up for yoga again. "It certainly seems so. Josh and Sam are working on it. Toby, too" Not that that should be comforting, especially following the uninformed disaster that was the latest press briefing. Opening the binder, I realize we have another problem. "Margaret!" She pivots before leaving the room. "I can't find my glasses."

"Leo, tell me I'm not _actually_ going to pardon a pig? Constitutionally, I can't even pardon the damn turkey! Now they want me to pardon a pig?" Here we go.

"Sir-"

"Pretty soon they'll just drive me to a zoo every fall. Let me wander around all the cages!" He's standing now.

"Sir-"

"Oh, excuse me Mr. President, we wouldn't want to ignore that zebra over there!" And waving his arms.

"Sir-"

"And don't forget about the ducks or the snails. Maybe someone is dining French for the holiday!"

"Sir, we really need to move on." Finally, I've managed a complete sentence. "I'm sure it'll all blow over after the holiday." Actually, I'm not at all hopeful at this point.

Thankfully, Jed seems ready to move on as well. I am, however, slightly alarmed at the joy which is suddenly present on his face. At least he's distracted from the pig situation.

"Ooh! Speaking of the holiday, you'll never guess who will be joining us for dinner!" By "us" he means his wife, children, dignitaries, and me. Despite my objections, I'll be enjoying the history of the yam again this year. In Latin.

"Who might that be?" I swear that if I don't get my reading glasses and Josh and Sam don't straighten this pork mess out…

"Oh, you'll have a _great _time, Leo. I guarantee it."

"Is that so." Why is it that whenever the assistants leave town, my senior staff ceases to function? I realize Donna's gone, but does Josh have to completely lose his…

"Came clear across the ocean, just to be here."

"Hmm." Couldn't run a poultry shop, let alone the country…

"Well, aren't you even curious, Leo?"

"I'm sure I'll find out at dinner," I mutter while squinting at the binder. "Now, sir, if we change your four o'clock with finance to-"

I'm interrupted as the door to the Oval bangs open and a booming voice proclaims, "By God! It's Gerald!"

Wait a minute.

I know that voice.

I raise my eyes from the binder cautiously. Jed stands before me, hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. There's a smug little smile on his face as he extends his hand to someone behind me.

Suddenly, things are falling into place.

"Lord John…" That's about all I manage as he rushes past me and vigorously pumps Jed's hand. This cannot be happening.

"And Gerald!" He claps me on the back. Hard. "Still with the President, I see. Such a good man, he is. Kind enough to invite me to Thanksgiving dinner!" Please let this be a joke.

"Well-" Jed begins.

"Of course maybe it wasn't so much an invitation as an acceptance of the offer I extended to him, but even so. Such excitement to spend such an American holiday with the President himself! And what will you be serving on such an occasion?" He stands silent for a moment before I realize that he has indeed addressed this question not to Jed, but to me.

Glaring at Jed, who offers no help, I grudgingly extend my hand. "I'm Leo McGarry." No recognition. "The President's Chief of Staff." Not the butler.

"Ahh, yes, yes, of course you are." Turning to Jed, he adds, "Really, Mr. President, I rather liked that other fellow you had before him."

"If you'll excuse me, sir." I take this as my opportunity to retreat into my office, leaving Jed with our British friend and a rather large bottle of scotch. "Margaret!" There's got to be some reason I can't go to that dinner. If not, I'm going to create one.

"Margaret!" Intent on my mission, I ignore the odd scuffling noise on the floor. I shuffle through papers on my desk looking for anything of even minor importance. Of course, without glasses even that would be difficult to see.

"Yes, Leo?" Maybe someone should stay in case Canada invades…

"Margaret, could you get me the hourly schedule for the Deputy - Margaret?" I really need those glasses. At least, I hope that's the problem. Because if it's not…

There's something on my floor. There's something _moving _on my floor, right in front of my desk. "_Margaret? _What the-"

"His name is Harold." She interrupts and bends protectively to the mass of feathers.

"Margaret…" I'm struggling to keep my voice level. "Margaret, why the _hell _is there a _turkey_ in my _office_?"

"It was in Josh's office, but it seems to dislike Sam. And Toby. So, I volunteered to watch it until the ceremony tomorrow."

The most frightening thing about all of this is that coming from Margaret, it seems almost...normal.

"I would have put it in my area, but with the open corridor, I-"

"_Margaret!_" One day, she's going to kill me. Or vice versa. "Get rid of the turkey!"

"Where would you like me to put it?"

"I don't know! A frying pan! I don't…Put it in Toby's office."

"Harold doesn't respond well to Toby."

"_Nobody_ responds well to Toby! He's Toby!" I am not having this conversation. "Put it in Sam's office, then."

"Harold doesn't respond well to Sam, either."

"Margaret! Just get the bird…" I notice I seem to have lost her attention.

Through the walls drifts the Oval Office conversation. "…and then I told Her Majesty that…" Margaret's eyes are filled with awe.

"Oh, for the love of God. Margaret!"

"Wouldn't hurt you to be nice to him."

"Margar-"

"Josh, Sam, and Toby are here to see you," she interrupts.

I sigh. There's really no point in reasoning with this. "Then send them in. And put the bird in Sam's office." She glances one more time in the direction of the Oval. "And stay away from that fruitcake!"

"But I thought the fruitcake was for the-"

"Margaret!"

Finally, she snatches up the bird and I'm left sitting behind my desk once more. I take a deep breath. CJ leaves, Donna leaves, and I'm left with Margaret, a British crown jester, and wild game in my office.

Sam walks in, edging around Harold and glancing suspiciously in the direction of Jed's office where one can hear a British accent and the sound of glasses being raised to…really everything in sight. Toby follows, then Josh who is motioning in the direction of the Oval. "Is that…"

"Yeah. It's him. Hide the women." Josh and Sam sit before me while Toby prefers to pace. "Now where are we on this pork thing?"


	5. Josh 3

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Chapter 5: Hunting Wild Game (Josh POV)

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"…and if the three of you do not fix this pig situation, so help me God I'm going to take you all out back and pelt you with rocks until it's done. Do you understand me?" Toby, Sam, and I are left to nod silently as Leo continues his rant. "I mean, it's bad enough I have to spend Thanksgiving dinner with that lunatic asking me how I basted the turkey, but if the President has to pardon a pig just so we can get the country through the day…" He continues on until forty minutes later, when we're summarily dismissed from his office.

Three hours later, we're no closer to a solution and I still can't find the damn files for tonight. Sam heads back to his office, leaving Toby and myself in the midst of what was formerly my workspace.

Toby, who has long since collapsed on my couch amidst pizza boxes and random folders, mutters quietly for the eighteenth time in a row, "Call her."

"Toby," I plead as I maneuver my way around my desk, "I can handle this without Donna. I am perfectly capable of-"

"Call her."

"Toby, it's really not that big of a-" I'm cut off as I trip over a congressional face book, coming to rest on top of the trash can.

"Josh," Toby's voice is far too quiet. "If you do not pick up that phone and call Donna and I mean _immediately_…" he pauses. "Then _you_ - not the pig - will need the pardon."

"Toby…" I pick myself up as gracefully as I can. "The pig thing will take care of itself. We just need to-"

"_Josh._ _Pick up the phone."_

Okay, then. Faced with the choice of the wrath of a very-nearby Toby or the potential anger of Donna, who is half a continent away, I reach for the phone. Toby, meanwhile, continues to mumble and run his fingers over his head. "I cannot believe you lost the file. She's been gone less than six hours. How do you completely lose the file and obviously your mind in less than six hours?" He's sort of chuckling now, but I doubt that's good.

"Toby," I start to dial, then pause. "You know, it really isn't my fault that-"

"Josh. It is your fault. You don't function without her. Dial the phone."

"Who could've known the pig people would have that big of a problem? And Watkins-"

"Dial the phone, Josh."

"-Once he removes his head from his ass, we'll be just-"

"_Josh!"_

"It's ringing, it's ringing." She's going to kill me. This is the fourth time I've called her since she landed in Wisconsin. I've destroyed her filing system and she's going to kill me.

A few moments later, Donna answers. "Hello?" She sounds out of breath and more than a little irritated. Not exactly how I'd hoped to start this conversation.

Might as well dive right in. "Donna, hey. Listen, I know I swore I wouldn't call you until at least tomorrow afternoon but I need your help on the thing for Haskell before Saturday. Toby wants us to…"

Toby's making little knifelike motions across his throat and I begin to backpedal. "I mean…I've misplaced some things. Important things. Things we need before CJ briefs the press on Friday." Actually, things I need in the next five minutes, but maybe we can avoid that fact. "I need to know anything you can get from Watkins and then take the stats from the latest-"

"Josh?" she interrupts me. "Could you hang on a sec?" There's some scuffling on the other end of the line.

"Well?" Toby raises his eyebrows.

I take a deep breath and shrug before continuing. "Anyway, Donna. I seem to have misplaced the file for…lots of things…so all I really need from you right now is to tell me where you put the backup copies for…everything." On the other end of the line I hear surprisingly little. There seems to be some discussion of beer and a beeping I can't quite place.

"Donna?" Silence, except for the beeping and a male voice I don't recognize.

"Donna?" Again with the beer talk.

Moments later, there's more scuffling as she picks up her phone. "Josh? You still there?"

"Donna? What's going on? Are you in a bar or something? I was just saying that if Watkins doesn't turn around on this we're going to shove his objections up his ever widening-"

"Josh." There's something in her voice I don't recognize. She sounds serious, too quiet and somber.

"Yeah?" I turn away from Toby's silent (and rather violent) gestures and face the widow, suddenly worried. "What's wrong?"

In a tiny voice she asks, "You wouldn't stop for a beer, right?"

A million memories of a long-past conversation come flooding back. She was hurt, and Dr. Freeride stopped for a beer. I know I wouldn't stop for a beer. I also know that if I ever meet the good doctor, I'll kick his ass. Or more accurately, I'll have Sam kick his ass. Keeping all this in mind, it doesn't take me long to reply. "I wouldn't stop for anything."

She sighs gently before she speaks. I can picture the small smile on her lips as she whispers, "Thanks." Clearing her throat, she pauses before switching gears. "Now, Joshua, what _exactly _did you manage to lose in the last six hours?"

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Twenty minutes later, we have the file, and the crisis of the evening has been averted. I've also been rather forcefully instructed not to set foot anywhere near Donna's filing system ever again. As I'm hanging up the phone, Toby leaves and Sam edges through my door with a pile of folders, files, and his laptop in his arms.

"Uhh…Sam?"

"Yeah?" He points to a semi-clear spot on the floor. "You mind if I work in here?"

I motion for him to sit, confused. "Ahh, sure. Why?"

"There's a turkey in my office."

"The same one that was in here? I thought Margaret took care of that."

"Yes. She did. Only, now it's in my office, and I can't really work in there."

I observe one more time the piles and papers already strewn about the room. Somehow, I doubt Donna would appreciate Sam adding to the mess. "You can't just…shove it in a corner? Move it to some other office?"

"I tried that." Sam nods as he clears a spot for himself on the floor. It's then that I notice the gauze wrapped around his hand. "It didn't work."

"Sam…" I'm almost scared to ask. "What happened to your hand?"

"I moved the turkey. Well, I tried to move the turkey."

"You…Did you wear gloves?"

"Does it look like I wore gloves?" Right. Stupid question. Sam, however, looks up thoughtfully for a moment before muttering, "I should've worn gloves."

Okay. Thinking quickly, I make a decision. "Lets go."

"What?" Sam's head whips up.

"Let's move the bird."

"Josh, I really don't think that's the best-"

"Come on, Sam. You need to work, I need to work. Leo's ready to kill us and we're fine on 197 but the pig people still need to be dealt with. We're men. We can do this! Let's go move the bird."

"Where to?"

Good question. "We'll…figure that out when we move it."

Standing, Sam still appears somewhat concerned. "Are you sure about this?"

The more I think about this, the more I'm starting think it could be fun. "Sam! It's Thanksgiving. What could be more American than hunting wild game?"

"In my office at the White House?"

Good point. "Take what you can get. Let's go."

Fifteen minutes later, we've acquired appropriate protective gear for the hunting of wild game. According to Sam, violent wild game. Strange, the things that are left lying around when the place is deserted for the evening. After swiping Margaret's gardening gloves, we arrive at Sam's office.

We arrive, and we encounter a problem.

"Sam?" My fishing waders are starting to itch as I peer through the open door.

"Yeah." He leans his tennis racket against the wall and disbelievingly pokes his head inside the room.

"You didn't shut the door." Silence. "Before you left your office, you didn't shut the door."

"Apparently not."

"There's no turkey in your office."

"No," he stammers. "No, there's not."

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Where's the bird?"

He shakes his head in wonder as together we stare the empty office and feather-filled hall.

This isn't good.

This isn't good at all.

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Shameless Plug: For Donna's half of the conversation, try reading "Stopping for a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve," the companion to this story.

Nope. No shame here. ;-D


	6. Sam

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Chapter 6: Treed by a Turkey (Sam POV)

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This isn't good.

This isn't good at all.

Josh looks at me, and I look at him. His yellow fishing waders make a slight squishing noise as he shifts his weight from foot to foot while peering in the door.

"Sam?"

"Yeah." I'm having a little difficulty speaking.

"Where's the bird?"

See, the thing is that I was almost positive I shut the door. Or that I would have shut the door if I hadn't been distracted by…something. Reclaiming my tennis racket, I creep cautiously around my office, checking behind my desk for the missing poultry, which is nowhere to be found.

Giving up, I sigh quietly, "Alright then." I join Josh in the feather-littered hall, closing the door behind me.

"Anything?" he asks.

"No. No turkey. Just feathers. But it must still be in the building. I mean, security would have stopped it, right?"

"Sam-"

"It's late, so there aren't many people around, but surely a turkey wouldn't go unnoticed, right?"

"Sam?" Josh raises his eyebrows and ruffles his hair with his mitted hand. "You lost the turkey."

"Yeah." I nod in acceptance. "I lost the turkey." I'm going to lose my job. I've lost the turkey and I'm going to lose my job.

"The turkey the President is supposed to pardon. The turkey CJ left in _my_ office…is lost."

I can only nod. We're dead.

Josh scratches his head, craning his neck and peering up the hall. "Well, it can't have gone too far. We'll just have to find it."

He sounds sure of himself, so I agree. "Right."

"Right," he echoes and nods along with me.

Again, we look at each other. I attempt to adjust the garden gloves I've procured and obtain a more secure grasp on the tennis racket I'm carrying for protection.

Josh nods some more and after an awkward pause looks expectantly at me. "Lead the way," he says.

What? "Lead the way?" He nods again. "Lead the way? You want me to lead the way? How exactly do I lead the way?"

"I don't know. It's…tracking." He gestures with his hands, currently encased in hockey mitts.

I raise my eyebrows.

"I don't know, Sam! You're the one that lost it! Just follow the trail. It's turkey hunting…how hard can it be? There are feathers…" Josh trails off as we start through the bullpen. Rounding the corner, I pause and take in the full appearance of the hallway. There do certainly seem to be a lot of feathers. Possibly too many feathers.

"Josh? Do you think it's shedding or something? I mean, why are all the feathers on the floor?"

Josh continues to squint at the ground for a moment before answering. "I don't…Do turkeys shed?"

I shake my head in confusion. Something doesn't seem right. "I don't know. Maybe it's sick or something. We should find it before-" I'm cut off by a sudden booming accented voice behind me.

"And what have we here? I say, Gerald! You certainly do have such entertainment at the Capitol this time of the year!"

Turning, I notice that Lord John himself has indeed arrived on the scene. He's accompanied by a very angry, very confused Leo. Josh's eyes go wide. Leo's got us cornered, and it would appear Lord John's been drinking. He eagerly extends a hand to me while Josh looks on in amazement.

Leo's mouth drops in wonder and it occurs to me that we must make quite the sight in our current ensembles. Josh's waders squish and I take the opportunity to remove one of the VP's cowboy hats from my head. Noticing Leo's eyes drop to the tennis racket, I lower it to my side as well.

"Lord John." I swallow hard and attempt a smile. "Sam Seaborn, Deputy Communications Director." We shake hands after I remove a glove. "This is Josh Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff." Josh grins feebly and also greets our visitor.

Leo, meanwhile, seems to have recovered from his stunned stupor and clenches both Josh and myself by the arms. He certainly has a strong grip. "Excuse us, would you?" he growls.

This isn't good at all.

Guiding us away from Lord John, who seems content for the moment to examine the feathers, Leo propels us into a corner before unleashing his wrath. Or attempting to, at least. He stands for a moment before starting to speak. A few incoherent sounds later, he changes his mind and shakes his head. His face is becoming more red by the minute and he seems to have difficulty forming a complete sentence. Trying once more, he again sputters off into silence.

Josh meets my eye. Somehow I doubt that a speechless Leo is helpful to either one of our careers.

"Look, Leo," Josh ventures, "We can explain."

"Really," Leo growls.

Josh elbows me and I chime in. "Absolutely."

"Really." Again with the growl.

We both nod.

"You can _explain_ to me why Josh is wearing fishing waders and hockey mitts. You can explain to me why Sam is wearing a cowboy hat and gardening gloves? You can explain to me why you're both carrying tennis rackets and the hallway is filled with _feathers_!"

Not knowing what exactly to say, we stand in silence for a moment.

"_WELL_?" I'm fairly certain they heard that in Cuba.

"Say, Gerald, it seems there may be a bird on the loose!" Lord John picks up a single feather and eyes it suspiciously. "Perhaps we shall have a hunting party!" He goes back to his work, delight evident on his face.

Leo eyes Marbury with gritted teeth before taking a deep breath and glaring once more at us. "Tell me…" he begins, then quiets himself. "Tell me there is _not _a _bird _loose in the White House."

Swallowing hard, I decide it may be best to start at the beginning. "Well, Leo, the thing is, I was almost sure I had shut the door when-" I'm interrupted by an inhuman, almost girlish scream. The three of us whirl in shock before hearing it again, soon followed by a thunking sound and the unmistakable squawk of a very angry bird.

"Say, old boys, it sounds as though there _is_ a bird on the loose! What fun at Thanksgiving!" Lord John takes off on a somewhat weaving run in the general direction of the screaming and squawking. Unfortunately for us all, the screaming and squawking seem to be emanating from one place.

Toby's office.

Lord John is the first one on the scene, followed by me, then Josh, who squishes to a stop behind us. Leo brings up the rear, pulling Josh aside to get a better look at the picture before him.

Toby is perched rather precariously on top of his desk, tossing various books and papers at Harold, who is squawking menacingly at him from the floor below. Harold, for his part, seems to be dodging the brunt of the attack, but…something isn't right…

"What the hell are you standing there for! Get that damn thing away from me!" Hurling his stapler from the desk, Toby makes a move to escape via his couch, but Harold intercepts the action with an enormous squawk.

Leo stares in horror at the situation as Lord John claps him on the back "Such fun! I wasn't told there would be entertainment this evening! We should have drinks and make an evening of it!" Leo's jaw drops in shock as Marbury's widens to a grin.

Meanwhile, Toby is growing more frantic. "Leo…I'm running out of things to throw here!" A coffee mug hits the ground. Harold keeps squawking and I ready my racket. "Get that damned diseased bird away from me!"

It suddenly registers what isn't right.

Harold.

He's nearly bald.

The turkey is nearly bald. And very angry.

This isn't good at all.

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Minutes later, in the residence, Charlie knocks on the President's bedroom door. "Come in, Charlie."

"Mr. President? I'm sorry to wake you, but we have a situation."

"China?"

"No, sir. It's Toby. He's been treed to his desk by a turkey."


	7. Josh 4

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions? Companion piece to Stopping for a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve, which is Donna's POV.

Chapter 7: A Wonderful Day (Josh POV)

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Beeep! Beeep!

What the hell is that noise? And why is my head…ooh…my stomach…

Bang! "Josh! Get up!"

Huh?

"Whaa…Leo? Why are you at my house?"

Beeep! I silence my phone.

Leo flips on a light switch before yanking away my blanket…or coat as it were. "I'm not _at_ your house, Josh. We're in your _office_ where I need you to _work_!"

I sit up in my bed only to discover it's actually the couch in my office. I'm having a little difficulty focusing here. "What…time is it?" I can't seem to locate my watch.

"Time for you to get up and do your job. A job, I might add, that you are lucky to have after that stunt you pulled last night."

Which stunt is he…Oh. Right. The turkey. Toby on a desk. The President in his bathrobe. Lord John hunting wild game. Raiding a zoo. Getting a new turkey. Celebratory drinks with Sam. Lots of celebratory drinks. Drinking Wild Turkey. That would explain my head. "Leo, it's all taken care of." And my stomach.

"Yeah, thanks to an early morning raid of the National Zoo." He opens up the blinds. Demonic sunlight enters the room. My head is going to implode. "I swear to God, Josh. How you and Sam even manage to put yourselves in these kinds of situations astounds me."

"Well, technically it wasn't my fault that-"

"Loosing a bird in the White house wasn't your _fault_?" He saunters over to my desk and squints at the mess before pushing some of it aside.

"I-"

"And super-gluing the feathers back on the bird?" He points at me with a pencil. "Whose great idea was that?"

Well, it seemed like a great idea at the time.

Leo continues grumbling. "Lucky we don't have PETA on our ass right now." He's writing on my desk now…and speaking awfully loudly. "Did you even go home last night?" I blink, trying to remember. "Right. Stupid question. Well, get up, get showered and get some coffee. You brief in less than an hour."

I…what? Brief? Oh. Right. CJ is gone. I brief. This is bad.

Meanwhile, Leo has come to stand directly in front of my current position on the couch. "True or false. If I were to go into Sam's office at this very moment I would find him in more or less the same condition as you."

Squinting against the daylight, my brain fumbles for the correct answer. "True?"

"Josh!" He throws up his hands. "What the-"

"Leo…" Ow. Must speak softly. "It's fine. There was a little celebration after we-"

"Celebration, Josh?"

"Yeah. After we got the replacement bird from the zoo, Sam and I…had a few drinks." Or a few dozen. I'm not sure at this point.

"Great. So I've got two hung over senior staff members, one of whom needs to stand in front of the entire White House Press Corps in less than an hour and explain to them the business of the nation!"

"Leo-" If he would just stop shouting…

"Get up! Get some coffee, get cleaned up and be standing behind that podium in forty-three minutes. Got it?"

I manage a nod as Leo leaves my office. Slamming, I notice, the door behind him as he mutters something about payback.

Head throbbing, I hobble my way around looking for Donna's stash of aspirin and come up empty before heading out to the coffee cart, where I encounter a very pale and woozy Sam.

"Hey."

"Hey."

That's about the extent of the conversation until my previously silenced phone once again begins to beep with the presence of voice mail. Simultaneously, Sam's pager goes off and he wobbles over to use Donna's phone. He dials as I hold a quick conference with my digestive system on the possible acceptance of a bagel. I'm thinking maybe half a plain would possibly stay down when I notice Sam turning from the phone. If possible, he looks even paler than before.

He weaves back over to me and stands silently for a moment before speaking. "Well."

I raise my eyebrows. "You gonna elaborate there, Sam?"

"We have a problem." He looks awfully green.

"What kind of a problem?"

"The pig thing."

"You mean the turkey thing."

"No." He shakes his head quickly, then winces. "I mean the pig thing."

"Sam? What's the problem?"

"The Pork Producers. They're holding the demonstration. They're holding it now. On Pennsylvania Avenue. With a pig."

Suddenly, the bagel doesn't seem like such a good idea. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You mean…" This is a lot to comprehend. "They're bringing a pig to the White House?" He nods sickly. "Because we're going to pardon a turkey?" Again, he nods. "Well."

"Yeah."

"Leo's going to kill us."

"Yeah."

"Sam? We have to fix this. We have to fix this now."

"Yeah."

As much as I don't want to do this, there's only one course of action. "I'm calling Donna."

Suddenly, I'm feeling quite sober.

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One hurried conversation with a very unhappy Toby later, I run back to my still-demolished office. Snatching up my phone and speed-dialing Donna, I attempt to find a place to sit only to realize that is still an impossibility. I settle instead for turning on the television only to be greeted by C-SPAN, now covering…Bessie.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Bessie the pig is marching on Washington. She's marching on Washington with a throng of protestors, signs, and a big blue ribbon around her neck.

I'm a dead man.

Gulping down cold coffee from…Tuesday? I swallow before Donna finally picks up the phone. She doesn't sound happy.

"Hello."

"Donnatella! How are things in the land of cheese and trees?" Might as well go for cheerful, not apoplectic.

"What do you need Josh?" Maybe I woke her up.

"Look, I promise this will just take a second…" I continue on, trying to figure out a way to work missing aspirin into the conversation. Unfortunately, Donna doesn't seem to be catching on to the problem at hand.

"Josh, you're going to have to explain this a little…more."

"Well, when we…Donna…Are you slurring your speech?" If possible, she sounds even worse off than I am.

"The turkey, Josh. The pigs." Short, clipped speech, and still no yelling. Definitely hung over. Interesting.

Nevertheless, there are issues at hand. "The Pork Grower's Association recently conducted a survey showing that more Americans are including ham as a part of their Thanksgiving dinners. I'm a mashed potato man myself, especially when they have the-"

"Josh!" Right. Keep it short.

"Right. Anyway, they feel that the president only pardoning a turkey is biased and, in their words, 'unfairly prejudicial toward an animal Americans know and love year round, not just on holidays.'"

"They want you to pardon a pig?" She's speaking very slowly now. Perhaps I should clarify.

"Actually, they want the President to pardon a pig, but, yes. Look, I know this is your vacation and I'm sorry to do this to you now, but CJ's with her dad and we need to rein this thing in quick."

"What's the rush? We don't have to pardon _anything_ until next year."

"It seems that the pork growers, in an effort to draw national exposure to the plight of the pig, have chosen Thanksgiving day as a time to showcase their cause on a rather large and potentially embarrassing scale."

"How embarrassing?"

"They're parading a two hundred pound sow named Bessie up Pennsylvania Avenue as we speak."

A few moments and several more clarifications later, we arrive at a solution. Or at least what I hope will be a solution. Still no aspirin, but Donna does not seem to be in the mood to conduct a scavenger hunt by phone around her desk.

"Listen, Donna? I really am sorry to keep bothering you. I know you want to see your family. I really do apologize." I hope she knows I mean that. This is her vacation and I've now called her…I don't remember how many times.

She sighs before answering. When she does, she sounds a little wistful. "It's alright, Josh. It's actually nice to feel needed sometimes."

Maybe it's the residual alcohol, but the next thing I say is the first thing in my mind. "You're always needed, Donna. You're invaluable. I hope…I hope you know that." I miss her. "Happy Thanksgiving, Donna."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Josh."

Hanging up the phone, I take a deep breath. Despite the pigs and the turkeys and the headache and the disaster that is my office, I'm feeling more than a little pleased. A day and a half until Donna returns and I might just make it.

As I chug the rest of the cold coffee and reconsider the bagel, there's a knock on my door. "Come in!" Ow. I really shouldn't yell.

"Josh?" It's Margaret. That's great. She's just the thing for a throbbing headache. "Leo said to tell you to shower before you brief. He also said to take some aspirin and coffee and that he's looking forward to seeing you and Sam at Thanksgiving dinner in the Residence at 1:00." With that she ducks back out the door. At least she was mercifully brief.

A shower. I don't need a…okay, maybe I do. I check the clock and realize I'd better get moving. Aspirin would be good. If Leo was really concerned he would have…wait.

Wait a minute.

Sam. Me. Leo. Dinner in the residence. That wasn't on my schedule. I'm sure I had this afternoon open…

All of a sudden it hits me and I remember Leo penciling something in on my schedule this morning.

Shifting aside takeout containers I see that my schedule has indeed been changed. "Payback" has now been scheduled for 1pm.

Lunch with the history of the yam in Latin. With a hangover. With Leo. And Sam. And…Lord John. Great. This is shaping up to be a wonderful day.


	8. Zoey

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Chapter 8: The Kiddie Table (Zoey POV)

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"…and did you know that when they harvest the yams, they actually use the-"

"Mr. President, I beg of you not to continue that sentence."

My father's really on a roll. Somehow he's cornered Toby in the sitting room while we wait for guests to arrive and dinner to be served. As usual, he's spouting the history of the yam. So far at least, he's using English.

"Why, Toby… Are you trying to silence your commander in chief?" A wife and three daughters. He should really be used to that by now.

"Would it work if I said that I was?" Toby mutters into his drink.

Unfortunately, my father only takes that as a sign of encouragement. "That's the spirit! Now enjoy yourself! We have quite the dinner planned. Did you know that traditionally the yams are roasted with-"

"Sir, I was really hoping to leave…" Toby's looking increasingly pained as my father continues on, now ranting about the multitude of tools used in the mashing process. I should probably help him out.

"Toby…Surely you don't want to miss such a meal! I hear Leo's even convinced Josh and Sam to join us."

"Actually, dad," I interrupt, "I think he ordered them to come." Toby sends me a quick look of thanks.

"Well, if you want to be picky." Dad plants a quick kiss on my forehead before excusing himself to see to Lord John, currently engaged in a very animated conversation with a confused and embarrassed Ellie. He's already asked to grasp my mother's breasts twice, and I think dad is getting a little possessive. I know Charlie isn't letting me out of eyesight.

"Thank you," Toby states quickly as dad leaves. He swishes his drink and surveys the room, now filling with people.

"No problem. I've heard the yam speech so much I can probably recite it myself by now."

"Please don't."

"Toby!" Josh jogs up behind us with Sam close behind.

"Leo ordered you to come?" Toby asks him quietly, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Josh accepts a drink from a steward. "You too?"

"No, not Leo." Toby looks pointedly across the room at my father. "That was punishment reserved only for you and for Sam following last night's turkey incident. It would seem that I was ordered to stay here by the President himself."

"Well, at least it's good company," Sam offers cheerily.

Unfortunately for us all, Toby isn't appeased. "Good company? You call this good company?" Sam winces as Toby gains volume. "Oh, yeah, good company. It's like being stuck at a dinner table with Al Capone only _knowing _it's gonna end when he beats you to death with a baseball bat!"

"Toby-" Sam tries to cut in, but it's a little too late.

"Only instead of head wounds, we get the history of the yam! And the pros and cons of twenty-eight brands of carving knives! And the spices! Do not -" He's chucking now, and Josh and Sam are looking more than a little scared. "Do not talk to me about spices! Actually the baseball bats might be preferable to what I'm about to endure!"

"Toby-" Now Josh tries to interrupt.

"No, Josh. I'm blaming this on you," he points, "and I'm blaming this on Sam."

"You know, Toby, it's not actually our fault that the President ordered you to stay."

"No? Not your fault? The President and First Lady were awakened in the middle of the night and informed that a turkey was loose in the White House. Was this not your fault?"

"I think," Josh begins, "I think it was a kind of communal problem…"

"He was then called to _my_ office to observe what can only be _charitably_ described as a bird squawking at my desk!" Actually my parents weren't the only ones awake at that hour. Probably best not to mention that right now, though. Besides, Toby on top of his desk was quite the sight to see.

"Toby-" Especially when he threw his laptop and managed to hit my father's shin.

"A bird who then turned its wrath on the President himself before being quelled by a tennis racket courtesy of our English friend over there!" And I somehow don't think Leo was thrilled when Lord John also hit him with the racket.

"All this," Toby continues, "in the middle of the damn night!"

"Toby-" He's starting to draw looks from the other guests.

"This…this is punishment. For both of you, clearly, and also for me."

"Why would the-"

"Because somehow, somewhere, it has become my responsibility to baby-sit the two of you!"

"We hardly need a-"

"Josh." Toby holds his hand in the air for silence. "I am going to sit down now. I am staking my claim on the seat with the most possible distance from our turkey hunting friend. You two…You two will seat yourselves far, far away from me. Understood?"

Josh and Sam are silent.

"And if, in the process of distancing yourselves from me, you manage to move to…I don't know…_Alaska_, that would good. Understood?"

Again, silence.

"Good. I'm glad we've had this talk. " Before leaving, Toby turns back to me. "Zoey…always a pleasure." With one final glare for the two of them, he leaves.

"Well…" Sam begins.

"That was kinda…" Josh trails off.

I'm about to suggest we all move to the dining room as well when Leo approaches. "Josh, Sam, so glad you two could make it," he greets them with a wry grin.

"We were…ordered here. By you," Josh reminds him.

"Yeah, well, least I could do. Hey, kid!" Leo puts one arm around my shoulders and I offer him a half-hug.

"Hey, Leo."

"Abbey tells me they're seating people in the dining room." He offers me his arm as he glares at Sam and Josh. "Can you two behave, or do we need a kiddie table for you?"

Josh laughs nervously. "Leo, it's not like-"

"Highchairs, maybe?" he spits.

"Leo," Sam tries, "you don't really think-"

"That wasn't a joke."

"Now listen, kid," he says, turning back to me. "We're gonna stay far away from the British loon…" Together we move toward the dining room, Sam and Josh trailing reluctantly behind. This should be a very interesting dinner.


	9. Josh 5

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Chapter 9: Dinner is Served (Josh POV)

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"…until I realized that the man was actually in danger from the wild bird! I must say, Mr. President, I don't know what your White House would have done if I hadn't been there to…"

San squirms in his chair on my left as Lord John continues on to my right. He's been recounting last night's events since the beginning of the salad course and shows no signs of stopping.

"And so," he's speaking now to the gathering in general, "anticipating such an action from the bird, I felt the need to defend your President with the racket I obtained from…"

The President, for his part, nods along with the story. A far more pleasurable reaction than Leo's glare. So far, this has been the most unpleasant Thanksgiving dinner of my life.

"…and in swinging the tennis racket at such an angle I was able to…" And now we have hand motions from the British loon. I notice Mrs. Bartlet swiftly rearranging her wine glass, keeping it from Lord John's waving hand as he reenacts the racket scene. Using, I notice, very expensive crystal.

Toby and Leo continue to glare from their end of the table and I notice Sam's face getting paler by the instant as he realizes where this story is going. "Please, oh please, let him stop before he gets to the part about-"

But Sam is cut off by what would seem to be Marbury's favorite part of the story. "…when your young speechwriter attempted to fell the animal through the use of…what was it, young man?"

Sam shrinks a little lower in his chair before muttering, "A coffee pot."

"Ahh, yes!" Lord John grins happily. "Your intrepid speechwriter attempted to fell the animal through the use of a beverage item! Of course, he may have been successful had the pot been empty. As it happened, we were all soon bathed in its contents!" He follows this declaration with another round of uproarious laughter, soon joined by other assembled guests.

Through the din around us, Sam whispers, "Just kill me now." Leo continues to glare, and from what I can tell, Toby is certainly not amused. Of course, that could be due to the fact that the majority of the pot's contents landed on him, but it's hard to tell.

"Such excitement! I shall have to relay the events to Her Majesty. She does so appreciate a rousing tale!" The President winces slightly, and Leo rolls his eyes to the ceiling. I have a feeling Sam and I will be paying for this for a long time to come. I busy myself with a bite of turkey and will this dinner to end quickly. Where's a country declaring war when you need them?

"But perhaps the most intriguing event of the evening occurred as I observed this young man," with that, he slaps me on the back and I choke on my food, "attempt to glue feathers back on the bird!"

Oh, God. He's moved from embarrassing Sam to humiliating me. Coughing desperately, I consider crawling under the table and making my way toward the doorway.

"…after gathering stray feathers from around your West Wing with…what is the name of that contraption?"

"A Dustbuster," the President supplies wryly.

"Ah, yes! A most ingenious idea with most disastrous results!"

I would defend myself, but the poultry lodged in my throat is preventing any speech. Sam hands me a water glass with a sympathetic glance while I try to catch my breath.

"…until they had quarantined the bird! And, when that idea, of course, failed to prove successful, the journey to your National Zoo was-"

"Excuse me," I interrupt, standing. "I have a phone call to make." Sam looks at me like I just betrayed him, but I could really do without the retelling of the visit to the Zoo. Or the inevitable humiliation that will occur when Lord John recounts the failed scaling of the fence. Or the celebratory drinking of the Wild Turkey. "I'll be…I've gotta…" Running out of words, I settle for running out of the room.

Upon arriving at my still-destroyed office ten minutes later, I take a moment to survey the damage. In addition to the previously strewn papers and files, feathers now litter the carpet as a testament to the failed super glue experience last night. I have no intention of returning to the dinner of humiliation, and have less than twenty-four hours until Donna's return. Time to start picking up the pieces.

Unfortunately, as I try to sweep stray feathers from the carpet, I encounter a problem. It would seem that although super glue does not bond feathers to birds, it does bond them to…everything else.

This isn't good.

Of course, in a situation such as this, there's only one thing to do.

Get Donna to fix it. Preferably, without realizing she's fixing it.

Dialing the phone, I plaster a smile on my face and sink into my newly feathered chair. Unfortunately, her reaction isn't exactly what I'd had in mind.

"What is it, Josh? This is not a good time, do you hear me? Not a good time. I don't know how there could be a worse time. In fact, this is probably the worst time so tell me fast - _what do you want_?"

Well, that was unexpected. She sounds a little strange, unlike herself. In fact, she sounds a little violent.

"_Josh?" _Definitely violent.

"I…Is this a bad time?" I manage, wondering if somehow she's heard about the bird…situation. Or the feather situation. Or possibly saw my last briefing. Suddenly I'm more than a little terrified that not only Donna but also CJ has been watching coverage of the last 24 hours on CNN. My blood runs cold as I scramble for a remote, just to make sure.

I catch only snatches of her next words while I attempt to peel a feather from the TV screen. She's whispering something about marriage and proposals and…Dr. Freeride?

That last word stops me cold and I wonder how this day could get any worse. "Marriage? Donna? What the hell are you…I mean, this is all a little fast and telling your boss before you-" I think my heart is going to explode.

"Oh dear God Josh! No! Not me! My cousin! What did you think I did?" she whispers violently.

Oh. Wait. Maybe I shouldn't panic. Of course, that's pretty much been the default reaction of the last day, so it's a little difficult for me to move on. "He…Dr. Freeride," this is slowly starting to make sense, "He's marrying your cousin?"

"Yes!"

"Which cousin?"

"Suzanne," she hisses.

"The one with the baby?" As if in answer, I hear a wail in the background.

"Yes, the one with the baby."

This makes him even more of a jerk than I thought. "Is he the-"

"No, he's not the father," she interrupts. "I don't know who the father is or where the father is, but he is not it."

"Oh," I swallow in relief before something else occurs to me. "Why are you whispering?"

"Because. There are people on the other side of the door and I don't want them to know I'm in here."

"On the other side of the…" This is very strange. "Donna? Where exactly _are_ you?"

"I'm in the pantry."

"Why are you in the…Are you hiding?" I'm guessing she had no idea of the Freeride situation prior to arriving in Wisconsin. That would explain the somewhat odd phone calls of the past day. Suddenly, I feel myself smile. "You're hiding in the pantry!" At least I'm not the only one avoiding Thanksgiving dinner.

"No. Yes. No. Well I wasn't until you called!"

"You know you can't stay in there all day, right?" Of course, I plan to remain in my office as long as humanly possible, but then again I'm only avoiding the leader of the free world. Donna's hiding from her family.

"What?" She sounds distracted and I hear some rustling on the other end of the line. "Yes. I know that, Joshua, but it's going to look a bit odd if I creep out now!"

"Why?"

More rustling. "Because, the kitchen is full of people and I can't just come out of here like I'm a skulking…_spy_ or something! It'll just reinforce the widely held opinion of my current mental state!"

Okay, then. "Well why are all the people in the kitchen? Shouldn't they be eating dinner or milking cows or something?"

Her phone is starting to cut out, but I hear something about champagne before she lets out a cry of pain. "OW! Damn it!"

"Donna?" What the hell is going on there?

Through a crackle of static I hear something about a cat and muffins. Now is probably not the time to ask about the removal of feathers. "The cat threw a muffin at you?"

"No, muffin mix. From the shelf. It knocked it off. It's…been that kind of a day. It's been like that since I got-" Again, her phone breaks up in static, but this time I'm more than a little worried.

"Look, Donna. I don't know what's going on there, but…" I swallow and drum my fingers on my desk. I might as well lay it on the line. "You know I think you deserve better than some guy who would stop for a beer if you were hurt. I just…hope you know that."

I listen for her response, but her voice is lost in the static. She's saying something about a battery, but I need to fit this in. "I wouldn't stop for a beer."

Biting my lip, I wait anxiously for her to say something, anything. Her phone, however, has other ideas and leaves me in silence.

Damn.

I'm about to try her parent's number when my phone rings. Snatching the receiver from the desk, I answer. "Donna?"

"No. It's Margaret. Why? Were you expecting Donna to call? What did you do?"

Margaret. Great. Doesn't Leo ever give her a day off? "Margaret. Hi." I sigh. "What do you need?"

"Leo asked that I call your office. He requests that you return to the residence immediately."

"Yeah, well, see, I'm working in my office right now…" Technically, this is true. I am working in my office. I'm removing feathers from the carpeting.

"Leo also said to inform you that the Pork Producers will arrive shortly for a photo-op. Something about the President eating ham in the Oval Office and a pig named Bessie. Leo said to make sure the President has good lighting. He's leaving you in charge of the details." With that, she hangs up.

Great. The President, the Pork Producers, a picture, and a pig. This should be fun.


	10. Leo 2

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Chapter 10: Picture Perfect (Leo POV)

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"I'm having my picture taken with a pig?" Silence. "On the off chance that I've developed some sort of hearing abnormality in the last five minutes, would you care to explain this to me again?" Jed squints his eyes and looks somewhat quizzically at Josh, then at me.

Josh clears his throat and wrinkles up his forehead before repeating his explanation to the President. "Well, sir, the issue we had this morning -"

"The pig protest?" Jed interrupts.

"Yeah," Josh continues, wincing. "To get them to turn the pig thing around, we had to agree to a brief photo-op."

"A photo-op involving me. Eating ham. With a pig."

Josh's head shrinks into his neck before he mutters, "So it would seem."

"Isn't that a little offensive toward the pig? Come have your picture taken with me while I eat a distant cousin?"

"It's what was agreed to, sir."

"I see." Turning from Josh back to me, Jed continues, "And are we sure that my having my picture taken with a pig won't send some sort of ulterior message? A negative one, perhaps?"

The thought had crossed my mind. Looking pointedly at Josh, I feel my teeth clench, "Well?"

"Ahh, well, Mr. President, we've come to look at this as the most positive solution." Josh's voice is cracking strangely.

Nodding slowly, Jed squints again. "And we have to do this in the middle of my Thanksgiving dinner?"

"We'll keep it brief," I offer, hoping to get back to dinner and then away from the British loon as soon as possible. "Right, Josh?"

"Sure thing." Somehow, though, he doesn't look too sure.

"Well, then, let's get on with it." Jed seems to have given up on all protests. "Where's the pig?"

Josh clears his throat uncomfortably before answering. "In your office…sir."

"In my…It's…You're telling me there's a pig in my office?" The President does not look happy, not that that was unexpected.

"Yes, sir." Josh's head shrinks into his collar.

"In the _Oval _Office?" Jed's voice is rising rapidly. "The same Oval Office where so many congressmen and senators - world leaders, even - never set foot? You're telling me there's a _pig_ in my _office_?"

"Well, sir, if it's any consolation, Leo had a turkey in his office yesterday."

I turn to glare at Sam, who has arrived on the scene. "Really, Sam, I don't think we need any consolation right now."

"Splendid," Jed mutters and together we move toward his office, which has indeed been occupied by a myriad of photographic equipment and one rather large pig, complete with blue ribbon. Bessie, I presume.

"Leo…" Jed corners me in the doorway. "I don't really have to do this, do I? Surely, there is some better use of my time. I could be, I don't know, running the country? Or starting a war with a nation no one's ever heard of? Or maybe, just maybe, eating my dinner?"

"Sir…" I would try to reason with him, but the photographers are starting to stare. Somehow, though, the look of discomfort on Josh's face is making this all worthwhile.

"All right, all right. Let's get this over with." He begins to make his way toward the pig, but stops in mid-stride. "Oh, Josh?"

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"And, ah, Sam, you come over here, too, please."

Dragging their feet, Josh and Sam slide over to the President, looking for all the world like kids who got in trouble for cheating on their math homework.

"Josh," Jed begins, "Before I have my picture taken with the ham and whatever else is over there, you've got to tell me something. At the briefing this morning…" At the mention of that disaster, I feel my blood pressure begin to rise and Josh's neck retreats farther into his shirt. "At the briefing this morning…" Again he trails off, shaking his head. "I just need to know…At the briefing this morning…_What happened_?"

"Mr. President, really," Sam breaks in, "The photographers are waiting -"

"No, no, Sam. That's alright. You'll wait just a moment longer, won't you, gentlemen?" The assembly of cameramen, pork producers, and people I can't seem to identify nod their heads. "Good, then. Now, Josh. Tell me what happened."

Josh looks to me for…help? He's not getting any of that here. He then whirls to Sam for assistance, who in turn looks like he wants to run from the room. "In all fairness, sir, it really wasn't as bad as was reported."

"Really?" Jed glares.

"It was a minor disruption in an otherwise productive briefing." He doesn't really believe that, does he? "It wasn't that bad." With that he begins chuckling nervously.

It's at this point that I cannot keep silent any longer. "Wasn't that bad, Josh? Wasn't that bad? You let a wild turkey, a _bald_ wild turkey into the press room! How does that even happen?"

"Actually, Leo, it was Sam who let the turkey into the press room."

A betrayed Sam whirls on Josh, "No, I was try to capture the turkey. It was Margaret who set it free."

Why doesn't that surprise me? "I still fail to see how this all ended up in the press room. In front of cameras," I add.

"We thought we had the situation under control," Sam offers.

"Apparently not." Jed still looks less than pleased as he eyes the plate of ham on his desk.

"Anyway, sir, they'll forget about it in a day or two." Josh looks hopeful, and it's my turn to glare.

"They'll forget about it, Josh? In a day or two? A _bald bird _ran through the middle of your briefing, followed by Sam, chasing the thing with a _tennis _racket!"

"Leo -"

"No, Josh. I've accepted the fact that the bird was locked in an office and somehow managed to escape. I've accepted that Margaret thought it cruel to keep the bird caged on Thanksgiving day. I've accepted that somehow, fate conspired to send that thing into the briefing room while the cameras were on, but what I cannot accept, _cannot accept_, is _you_ telling the press that a _quarantined_ bird is loose but that the nation should not _panic_ because it's _under control_!"

Josh is silent, Sam's eyes are wide, and Jed now looks amused.

"Do you have any idea the kind of national panic you could have caused? You used the word _quarantine_! To reporters! One bald bird and suddenly the entire news cycle is 'Bird flu at the White House!' What in God's name were you thinking?"

"It should be known," Josh stammers, "that I handled it with as much grace and professionalism as the situation would allow." He weakly attempts a smile.

"Yeah, Josh, cause the nation's really gonna buy the fact that the bird was only suffering from some stress-related disorder."

"It is!"

"Josh!"

"It was being chased by men in suits with tennis rackets! And Lord John! That's gotta cause…stress!"

"Whose idea was it to glue on the feathers?"

"And admittedly, that was a mistake. But, Leo -"

"It's a wonder they haven't locked down the borders by now!"

Jed clears his throat. "Excuse me," he says. "Remember me? Your Commander in Chief? My own turkey, the one on my dinner plate is getting cold, so can we please take the damn picture?"

"Of course, sir." He breaks away toward the pig, before stopping once again. "One more thing."

Josh is looking a little green.

"How long until CJ gets back?"

Sam swallows. "That would really depend on whether or not she saw the briefing."

Jed exhales deeply and nods. "Of course. And Donna? When can we expect her?"

"Tomorrow," Josh says.

"Leo?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't ever let the women leave town again."

"Yes, sir."


	11. Josh 6

Title: Turkey Day

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions?

Chapter 11: Home (Josh POV)

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"Uh, oh."

That's never a good sound coming from Sam.

"Uh, oh."

And there it is again. We're standing in the remains of my office cleaning the remnants of feathers, files, and two days without Donna from the carpet.

"Uh, oh."

"Sam?" He puts down my phone (which was finally located under my desk after much ringing) and turns to face me. "Sam, what's going on?"

"We may have a problem."

We've really had enough of those in the last two days to last a lifetime. Donna won't be back for another four hours, the pig people have been pacified, and Leo is sequestered in his office with Lord John. I don't see what could possibly be left. "What kind of problem?" I ask, this time with more acceptance than surprise.

"That was Carol," he begins, making his way around my desk and edging toward the door.

"Yeah…" Dread settles in my stomach.

Sam eyes the fruitcake mush on my carpet before taking a deep breath and finally speaking. "CJ's back." With that, my turkey hunting partner in crime runs from my office like the intelligent coward that he is.

I'm about to go after him when it occurs to me that I may have bigger issues to deal with. In a frantic spurt of adrenaline, I spend the next five minutes shoving files into cabinets, trash cans, and eventually Donna's desk. I rip remaining feathers from the carpet and toss the super glue into my overflowing garbage can. One more pass around the office and it's almost…back to normal.

Just as I'm cramming Sam's fishing waders into my closet, there's a knock on my open door. I turn to find CJ, still wearing her coat and scarf, standing in the doorway.

"Hey, CJ! How was your holiday?"

Pulling off her gloves she smiles…sort of. "Just fine, _Joshua_, and how was yours?"

She called me Joshua. That's never good. "Good!" I go for enthusiasm. "It was…good. Good mashed potatoes, turkey…"

She's still standing there with that odd look on her face. "No problems here, then?"

"No…" Why does my voice crack like that?

"Really." She's awfully tall. "The briefing went well?"

Oh, God. She knows.

"It was…handled," I manage.

"Handled, Josh?" She takes a step forward. CJ's really good at that intimidation thing. "It was handled?"

"Yeah. I mean, there were a few…complications."

"Really." I'm starting not to like that word. CJ unwraps her scarf and stretches it out, examining its length. My own neck is starting to itch. "Then would you care to explain to me why there was a bald turkey in my press room?"

"CJ -"

"_And_ why I have a dozen calls to return regarding the White House _quarantining_ diseased birds? And why Sam ran through the briefing with a _tennis racket_?"

My throat is starting to close. Coughing nervously, I ask, "You saw that, did you?"

She fixes me with that glare she has. "Yes, Josh, I saw that. I can't _imagine_ why I felt the need to check up on you while you were standing in front of the entire White House Press Corps, but I did. I saw everything. I heard everything, and what I want to know is _how_!"

"How?"

"Yes, _how_! How was there a bald bird in my press room? How was there a pig marching on Washington? How did the President come to have a cannibalistic picture taken _with _the pig and a plate of ham? How are there feathers on your TV screen?" She's waving her arms and screaming now. "How did you set off the alarms at the National Zoo? How does the entire nation think we're keeping infected birds at the White House? How the hell did you do all this _in less than two days_!"

At this point, I offer up the only explanation I have. "Donna left."

CJ's shoulders fall, she drops the scarf, and heaves a sigh. "That explains it."

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Four hours later, my office is clean. Harold, our stressed-out turkey friend, has been removed from Margaret's care and placed in a nice zoo. Hopefully one where he can get some help. And the rest of the super glue removed.

My office is cleaned, sort of. I've attempted several calls to Donna, but it would appear she's not charging her phone. After the mislocation of the files for 197 (again) I gave in and called her mother who provided me with flight information.

Lord John is safely on another plane headed back across the ocean where, God willing, he will remain for a very long time. The Bird Flu stories have been contained, and CJ has finally stopped screaming. Mostly. We're done early on a Friday, and everyone else is headed to the Hawk and Dove to celebrate.

I, however, have other plans and no time for a beer. For one thing, I'm still a little scared of CJ, and Donna's mom left me with just enough information in just enough time for me to pick her up at the airport - which I'm attempting to do when suddenly I notice red and blue flashing lights behind me.

Damn.

Pulling over, I roll down my window and produce license, registration, and wait for officer Munson to confirm I'm not a wanted felon.

"You know you ran a red light back there."

I do not have time for red lights. "Actually, officer, I think that at the time it may have been yellow. See, the…" Okay, that's not going to work. Officer Munson is not amused. "I'm picking up someone at the airport and…" That's not going to work either. Maybe if I just tell her I'm going to self-destruct if I don't see Donna in the next hour, she'll let me off.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" An idea sparks in my brain.

"I work at the White House." If nothing else, maybe a little Presidential intimidation will work. I attempt a smile.

"Right!" There's recognition on Officer Munson's face now, and I think I may have succeeded. "You're the guy chasing the turkey!"

Oh, God. "That was Sam, actually," I mutter.

"So, does that mean that bird disease is in America? I was just wondering. Had turkey yesterday, and today I'm not feeling -"

It really does not get any worse than this. "Can I have my ticket now, please?"

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Finally, _finally_, I arrive at the airport. Donna's flight has been delayed slightly due to rain, so I'm right on time. I fight my way through clumps of immobile people and luggage and make my way to her baggage claim.

She isn't there.

Or more accurately, she isn't at _her_ baggage claim. I spot her several minutes later, dragging a case from…Sacramento? Whatever.

"Donna!"

Her head turns slightly at the sound of her name, but she's still too far ahead to see me.

"Donna!" Dashing through the crowd, I narrowly miss being impaled by a pink umbrella. Skidding to a stop beside a rather large man with a Big Bird raincoat, I catch her arm.

"Josh, What are you doing here?"

"I came to pick you up." I notice suddenly that I'm grinning like an idiot and bouncing on my toes. Also, that I'm soaking wet and probably dripping on her shoes.

"Why?"

Good question. Because my life fell apart without you? "Why? Because the last time I talked to you, you were hiding in a pantry from your dairy farming "kinfolk" freaking out while a cat threw muffins at you." That's a better reason.

"It was muffin _mix_."

"Huh?"

"The cat. It threw muffin mix. Knocked it down, actually. How'd you know when I was coming in?"

"I've been calling your phone since this morning, but all I got was your voicemail."

"Yeah, I kind of dropped the ball on that one."

"I guessed. Anyway I finally called your mom and she told me the flight number." Remembering suddenly the message I was asked to pass along, I add, "She also said to tell you that you owe your father a bottle of scotch." I'm guessing Donna did not have a great vacation.

"I'll send him one for Christmas."

I'm wondering exactly how to ascertain if she saw the briefing when she asks, "Josh? Why did you really come? I mean, I doubt it was to protect me from cats with breakfast items."

"Right. Well, I just wanted to…to…I just…" The truth is that between the turkeys and the pigs and the briefing and the mess I made, I really have been worried about her. Something was not right in the land of cheese and trees, and, well… "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah? Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." We walk in silence for a minute or two. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Nah. There really wasn't much happening 'cause of the holiday." Okay, that was only a little lie. She'll see the rest when she walks into the office on Monday. "We finished up early with the pig people - who, by the way, settled for a photograph of the President eating a ham - and that was about it. Everybody else took off for the Hawk and Dove to go celebrate so I came here. I would have been here sooner, too, if not for Officer Munson on Connecticut Street who apparently has some form of red-yellow color blindness and needed me to give her a tutorial. I succeeded, though. Not even a ticket. I tell you Donna, I…Donna? What's wrong?"

She's stopped behind me, a little grin spreading over her face. For a moment, I'm worried they're replaying my finest hour on CNN, but a quick check of the airport TV tells me that's not the case.

"Donna, you okay? Donna?"

"I'm fine, Josh. I'm just…I'm happy I'm home." She grins and takes my arm.

I feel myself smile in return. "Me, too."

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A/N: Thanks so much to all those who read and reviewed. If you liked this, try reading, "Stopping for a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve," the companion to this story which follows Donna's trip to Wisconsin. (That's the last shameless plug, I promise.) Reviews are fun, and concrit is welcome.

A/N 2: I finished this before the series ended, shock of shocks. Thanks for seven great years, folks. It'll be missed.


	12. Epilogue - Six Years Later

**A/N: So, six years since I wrote the rest of this fic. Why not write an epilogue?**

**Just checking in with Josh and Donna…and Harold. Comments welcome, and Happy Thanksgiving.**

_Josh shifted uncomfortably. "Well, there may have been a little more to the story…"_

* * *

**Six Years Later…**

Fall at the National Zoo brought out the best in the animals, the scenery, and the visitors themselves. Families strolled throughout the exhibits, relaxing and enjoying the antics of the other creatures, both exotic and everyday.

One such family, a woman with long blonde hair accompanied by a man happily pushing a stroller with a curly-haired little girl inside, was making its way through the zoo, aimlessly enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon.

They would have been indistinguishable from any other family on such a day, until the man stopped suddenly, eyes widened in disbelief, mouth parted, one finger raised in a shaking gesture.

"Josh?" Donna paused, rolling the stroller back a few feet. "What's wrong? The Penguin Palace closes at four, and we've got to-"

"It's him," he said simply, still pointing to a spot inside the exhibit's gate.

"Who?" she asked, spinning to search the crowd.

"The…Not the people," he clutched her arm and waved toward the greenery before them. "The bird. I know that bird!"

"What?" Donna's face wrinkled in confusion. All she saw were turkeys, each more or less identical to the others.

"Harold! It's _Harold_!"

"Josh, you've gotta calm down." Josh was wearing an expression of sheer panic usually reserved for the appearance of one British Ambassador. "What are you talking about? Who is Harold?" Her hand drifted to the little blonde head turned up in confusion.

"The _bird_!"

"We've got that, Josh. Also, it's a turkey. What about it?" To her daughter she murmured, "It's okay, sweetie. Daddy's just scared of a turkey."

"It's the one! The one from _that year_ at Thanksgiving when you abandoned me to go to Wisconsin! The one we had to chase through the White House! The one that treed Toby to his desk!"

Donna sighed. This, again. "First of all, I was gone for less than three days. You survived. Second of all, no one forced you to try to superglue the feathers back on-"

"-I recall that being more Sam's idea than mine-"

"-after you scared the poor thing half to death. And third of all, there's _no way_ that's the same bird!"

"Read the plaque," Josh directed. He gestured toward a bronzed sign just inside the exhibit's fence.

Donna rolled her eyes, took her daughter by the hand, and knelt down to read. _"Following his appearance at the White House, Harold was officially pardoned by President Josiah Bartlet during the Thanksgiving season of two thousand and –"_

"I told you!" Josh jumped up and down slightly. The noise and movement flustered the flock roaming only feet away. Josh took a wary step away from the fence.

Turning back to the plaque, Donna continued to read. "_Harold is one of the National Zoo's most beloved residents._"

"Beloved?" scoffed Josh. "More like homicidal..." He removed his phone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"I gotta tell Sam."

Donna shook her head at her daughter, wrinkling her nose in the process. "Silly daddy." The little girl giggled.

Moments later, Josh hung up with a huff. "Voicemail." He bounced on his toes for a moment. "I'm sending him a picture."

"Do you even know how to work the camera on that thing?"

"Sure," Josh said with confidence. "You just…find the button for the…thing…and then you…" He trailed off, giving his phone a quizzical look. "Surely there's a button…"

"Here." Donna held out her hand. Swiping easily through several screens, she lined up the shot and sent it to Sam. As she reached over to hand the phone back to Josh, she paused. "Wait. This doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't?" Josh asked, still eyeing the turkey suspiciously.

"I thought you and Sam broke into the National Zoo to _replace_ Harold for the pardoning."

Josh squirmed. "Well, technically…"

Donna tilted her head to the side. "You _had _to replace Harold after you stressed him out and he lost all his feathers!"

"I like to think that was the result of being hunted by the British loon. Or contact with Toby." He peered at Harold, who stared right back. "You know, he looks much better now."

Donna barreled on. "If you swapped Harold for the bird you stole-"

"Borrowed."

"Whatever – Then why does the plaque say _he_ got pardoned?"

Josh shifted uncomfortably. "Well, there may have been a little more to the story…"

"_More_ to the story? More than Harold running through the press room bald and the bird flu rumors and Toby throwing his laptop at the President? How on earth can there be _more_ to that story?"

"In all fairness, Toby was aiming for the bird when he accidently caught the President's shin with the…"

"Josh!"

"Right. Well, it seems that – this is kind of funny, actually – while I was picking you up at the airport after all that…uh…"

"Josh?" Donna began bucking their toddler back into the stroller. People were beginning to stare.

"While I was picking you up," he continued, "PETA apparently found out about the…situation."

"Which part of the situation, exactly?"

"All of it." Josh attempted a cute little grin. He failed. "The PETA thing was Margaret's fault."

"Josh! How were you _not_ fired?"

"Well, a compromise was reached."

"Which was?" Donna rifled through a bag and produced a sippy cup of milk.

Josh took a deep breath and began to explain, a sudden feeling of dread inching through his body. "Well, in order to avoid what Leo called 'a potential sudden and violent end to all our professional lives'…" he winced, "CJ reached a quick agreement with PETA and the President."

"He pardoned a second turkey," Donna realized.

"Yeah…but that wasn't the whole deal…"

Handing down a plastic bag of goldfish crackers to her daughter, Donna braced herself for what else was to come. "What else did the President have to do?"

"Nothing!" Josh quickly explained. "It's just that, well, you know how much he hated to pardon _anything_…and he'd already done the one turkey…and the pig…"

Donna rolled her eyes. The pig. Right. She'd never been allowed to leave town at Thanksgiving again.

"The President was a little…" Josh's eyes wandered to his wide-eyed daughter, "_upset_ at having to pardon something else. So, in order to save my job and secure the financial well-being of my future family…"

Donna glared.

"I made a deal. With the President." Josh braced himself.

"Josh."

Josh suddenly realized his wife could look very lethal when she wanted to.

"Yes?"

"What was the deal?" She sounded awfully calm. Too calm.

"Uh…You know how we go to Thanksgiving in Nashua with the President every year?" He chuckled nervously. "And how Sam and Toby and Leo _always_ come?"

"Yes, Josh. I can recite the history of the yam in Latin. We all can."

"Yeah…It's not really an _option_. Thanksgiving with the President, that is. It's actually more of a requirement."

Donna's jaw dropped. "Let me get this straight. We'll be eating Thanksgiving dinner with the President and his yams for…how long do we have to do this?"

"The phrase he used at the time was 'in perpetuity-'"

"-all because _you couldn't handle looking after a bird!_"

"Well, everything was _fine_ until you went to Wisconsin…"

And they continued on their way, a fully-feathered Harold gobbling cheerfully behind them.

* * *

**A/N: And that's the end. The real end. Probably. Unless I decide, six years from now, to do this again. Never say never, I've learned. Comments are welcome.**


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